She stopped at the French bakery. A cup of French roast in a real cup and saucer. Half a ham and cheese croissant. She poked at her book -- The Paris ...ife -- while she mostly peered out the window and occupied herself with memories of her twenties. At some point she felt the eyes of a man on her. Men think we don’t know. We always know. She glanced up and the handsome man in his forties looked away, then looked back again, then turned away once more, dismissively. Marian had experienced this a. I want to be cleaned up.”I’d do it, I’d clean her up, gladly. We made love - or was it fucking? Our hands caressed our entire bodies, we kissed as I thrust deep and slow. Her bare breasts against my skin. “I love you” she whispered in my ear. A hand grabbing my cock? I’m not in my wife anymore. It’s warm, wet. Her mouth. A greedy presence. Mouth and hand, milking me. I’m about to cum. I warn her, them. I hear her moan, pleading with her mouth full: “Hmm hmm”. She wants me to. Is this how it’s. More

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